BSS CH 25

Illness

After Cheng Jing finished his checkup, it was Liang Jingmin’s turn. They moved to another location—this place was clearly newer and more luxurious. It didn’t feel like a hospital at all but more like an exclusive private club. There was a strange sense of familiarity to it, as if he had been here before in a dream.

He sat outside the consultation room, quietly sulking. He refused to follow Liang Jingmin inside and didn’t bother asking what he was here for. Instead, he just sat on the long sofa in the waiting area, scrolling through his phone. Next to him, a middle-aged woman sat with a young girl wearing a butterfly-shaped hair clip—likely her daughter.

The girl looked about sixteen or seventeen, dressed in a light pink dress with long hair cascading over her shoulders. She had a youthful beauty to her. Her small leather shoes tapped against the sofa as she swung her legs back and forth.

The woman turned and patted her lightly. “Xiaoyu, stop swinging your legs.”

The girl, Xiaoyu, nodded and reached out her hand expectantly. After a moment, her mother placed a colorful lollipop into her palm.

She unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth, but soon after, she resumed swinging her legs.

The sofa shifted slightly with each movement, drawing Cheng Jing’s attention again.

Her mother, looking a little apologetic, gently patted her once more and said, “Xiaoyu, stop swinging your legs.”

Xiaoyu nodded again, the lollipop still in her mouth, and extended her hand once more. The woman, with a resigned sigh, pulled out another lollipop and handed it to her.

Something about the scene felt… off. Cheng Jing couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but just as he was about to dwell on the thought, his eyes met the woman’s.

She offered him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, she’s always like this. If it bothers you, we can move to another seat.”

Cheng Jing shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“Are you here for a checkup too?” she asked.

Cheng Jing shook his head again. “No, I’m just here with someone.”

He hesitated, considering how to refer to Liang Jingmin. He recalled how, in a hazy state, he had been forced to sign the divorce papers. They had probably reached Liang Jingmin by now.

On the character “木^[1]” in his name, he had pressed the pen down a little harder, a small, bitter gesture—though likely no one else in the world would notice. At the time, Liang Yulin had been watching him closely, and he had no other choice.

Whether Liang Jingmin had actually signed the papers, Cheng Jing still hadn’t asked. Given everything that had happened between them, he genuinely didn’t know whether to call him his husband or his ex-husband now.

After weighing his options, he settled on a middle ground: “I’m here with my boyfriend.”

The woman didn’t seem to care much about the specifics. She simply asked, “What’s wrong with him? How long has he been unwell?”

Cheng Jing found the question a bit odd, but he answered honestly, “I don’t know. We were apart for a while.”

There was something Cheng Jing had never fully understood about conversations—most people weren’t really listening. They were just waiting for their turn to speak.

And now, looking at the woman’s face full of worry, he suddenly realized she wasn’t here for small talk—she needed someone to listen.

His gaze drifted toward Xiaoyu, and almost instinctively, he asked, “What about her?”

The woman finally found an opening to let it all out. “Three years now,” she said. “Back in her last year of middle school, she started dating a boy in her class. I told her no—it would be a distraction. Her father and I worked so hard to put her through school; how could she afford to lose focus at such an important time?”

Her expression grew tense, but a hint of pride still lingered in her tone. “She’s been the top student in her class ever since elementary school.”

Then, her voice dropped. “But later, I found out she had been struggling emotionally all along. Honestly, I don’t understand kids these days. Where do they even get all this talk about depression and anxiety? Didn’t we all make it through the same way? And yet… here we are.”

Cheng Jing didn’t know what to say. He simply listened.

“She started with self-harm,” the woman continued, her fingers unconsciously tightening. “Then she became distant, only remembering the things she wanted to remember, refusing to listen to anything we said. We took her to so many hospitals before finally ending up here. We’ve spent so much money, but she’s still not getting better.”

The deep furrow in her brow told him she had been frowning like this for a long, long time.

A strange pang of sympathy hit Cheng Jing.

At that moment, the girl, Xiaoyu, suddenly peeked over at him. Her eyes were bright and clear—completely at odds with the scars covering her arms.

She smiled. “Your hairstyle is really unique. It looks great!”

Cheng Jing, caught off guard, belatedly reached up to touch his hair.

Maybe it was time for a trim.

Outside, the weather was surprisingly nice. But good weather had never suited him.

He reached into his bag, pulled out a pair of wide-rimmed sunglasses, and hooked them onto the collar of his shirt, ready to put them on once he stepped outside.

How long was Liang Jingmin going to talk? It had already been forty minutes.

Cheng Jing stood up, trying to peer through the door’s glass panel—except there wasn’t one. He could only press his ear against the door, picking up muffled fragments.

A doctor’s voice: “Rest… avoid any emotional distress…”

Was Liang Jingmin sick?

Cheng Jing leaned against the door, his frame thin and delicate, his hair loosely tied back—almost giving off a gentle, alternative look.

If Liang Jingmin was unwell, maybe he could try forgiving him a little. Sick people shouldn’t be provoked; they might act out of character.

At least things hadn’t hit rock bottom. He had escaped Liang Yulin’s grasp, the baby was stable, and the weather was clear. Not everything was terrible.

But fate never let him have things easy. A wave of dizziness hit. His stomach turned again—he probably hadn’t emptied it completely earlier. Weakness spread through his limbs, and he barely managed to turn and slump against the stark white door, eyes shut, focusing on breathing.

He bit his lip hard, nearly drawing blood. He didn’t have the energy to rush to the restroom but refused to throw up here. It would mean calling for help, making a mess—both things he hated.

The woman from before noticed something was wrong and approached. “Hey, are you okay?”

Xiaoyu peeked from behind her mother, wary.

Just then, the door suddenly swung open.

Cheng Jing, leaning all his weight against it, lost his balance. Before he could react, he collapsed straight into Liang Jingmin’s arms.

Liang Jingmin was startled but caught him with ease, scooping him up entirely.

“You okay? Feel like throwing up?” he asked quietly.

Cheng Jing clenched his lips shut, afraid that speaking would make him gag. He simply shook his head, sweat beading on his forehead.

Xiaoyu spoke up. “Is this your boyfriend?”

Cheng Jing stiffened.

Liang Jingmin, clearly hearing it too, arched a brow and glanced down at him. “Boyfriend?” he echoed, amused.

Embarrassed, Cheng Jing shut his eyes, feigning worse discomfort—not very convincingly.

Liang Jingmin carried him straight back into the room but turned to Xiaoyu before leaving. “He’s my wife.”

Lying in his arms, Cheng Jing thought—this man was impossible to stay mad at.

By the time the doctor brought a trash can for him to use, he had already recovered a little. But now he was stuck. Not vomiting would seem dramatic, but forcing it when he didn’t need to felt ridiculous.

Liang Jingmin rubbed his back, explaining to the doctor, “He threw up everything this morning.”

The room was bright and airy, with a large window facing south, overlooking lush greenery.

Liang Jingmin rummaged through his bag for sunglasses but found them hanging from Cheng Jing’s collar. He plucked them off and gently put them on his nose.

Cheng Jing looked up, the glasses giving him a colder, more distant air. “I’m fine now,” he said quietly.

The doctor, a woman with a low ponytail, gave him a warm smile. “It’s been a while, Mr. Cheng. How have you been?”

Her voice was soothing, like they were old friends reunited after years.

Cheng Jing almost responded instinctively before realizing—he had never seen this doctor before. Just as he was about to question it, Liang Jingmin cut in.

“Not great.”

He briefly described Cheng Jing’s pregnancy and symptoms while Cheng Jing listened in silence, feeling like they were discussing someone else’s body.

He stared at the doctor’s lips as she spoke, hearing nothing, simply watching her expressions.

At one point, she exchanged a glance with Liang Jingmin, then turned back to him. “Anything you’d like to add? How’s your mood lately?”

Cheng Jing shook his head. Why was the conversation suddenly about him?

The doctor was patient. “Would you like to talk alone? Maybe it’d be easier without him here.”

She turned to Liang Jingmin. “Mr. Liang, could you step outside for a bit?”

Liang Jingmin nodded, but just as he stood, Cheng Jing tugged his sleeve.

He tilted his head. “Have we been here before?”

“Yes. When you got that sunburn, we saw Dr. Yang here. You don’t remember?”

Ever the gentleman in front of others, Liang Jingmin’s voice softened at the last part, almost affectionate.

Cheng Jing shook his head in confusion, though he did remember the sunburn incident.

That time, his mother had been in surgery. No matter how he pleaded, Liang Jingmin hadn’t allowed him to visit her. In retaliation, he’d done reckless things—picking a fight with a pianist at a club, and more drastically, sitting outside in the scorching summer sun for hours.

The sun in Xijing could be brutal. He’d spent days recovering in the basement after that. Many doctors had come and gone, yet he had no recollection of Dr. Yang.

He chuckled. “You must be mistaken.”

Liang Jingmin smiled faintly. “Maybe.”

The doctor spoke up. “I’ve got the basics. Just a couple more questions—Mr. Liang, please wait outside so we can finish quickly.”

Liang Jingmin glanced at Cheng Jing before prying his fingers off his sleeve and placing them gently on his lap. “Dr. Yang is very professional. Five minutes, I’ll get us coffee.”

Cheng Jing’s clear eyes looked dazed and unfocused.

On rare occasions, he would reveal this kind of lost expression—one that struck straight to the heart, making anyone who saw it instinctively want to protect and comfort him.

Liang Jingmin could count the times he had seen it.

Once, on an autumn tram, watching cold red leaves surge toward him like a tidal wave.
Another, when he was overwhelmed by pleasure, unable to hold back his voice.
And then, in unbearable pain, desperate to escape reality.

And now.

Cheng Jing’s voice was barely above a whisper, fragile and uncertain. “I’m sick, aren’t I?”